


Whats Happening to my Body, Practical lessons on: Addendum

by ao3afterdark



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Incest, also more silly, penis jokes abound, this is along similar lines as a previous story but far more consensual, transgender malcolm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 08:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10850451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ao3afterdark/pseuds/ao3afterdark
Summary: Not all of Malcolm Hawke's one-on-one lessons with Bethany were about magic- at least, not literal magic, although still the kind that you make with your hands, often involving gripping a staff firmly, regular practice of grease spells, and several acts denounced by the chantry…





	Whats Happening to my Body, Practical lessons on: Addendum

Bethany's nerves were all alight with anticipatory nervousness as she and her father went through today's spellwork. Her attention was not where it should have been, and she made more than a few mistakes that would have filled her with shame on an ordinary day, but which now made every part of her sing when her father stepped close to touch her here and there to correct her posture, and if his touch lingered longer than it had to, neither made mention of it.

She even turned into it more than once, just as she had when he had touched a hand to her waist this evening past, when he had come upon Bethany watching her elder sibling twine together with Peaches against the side of the barn. _"It is a pretty sight, isn't it?"_ He'd asked, though his eyes hadn't been on his older child at all. Bethany hadn't noticed, had been rather occupied trying not to shriek with surprise, and had ended up stumbling back more fully into her father’s arms when she fell back, which made Malcolm hum to himself. _"Is it the forbidden thrill of it you seek?"_ He'd asked, making Bethany make a sound not unlike a squeal and cover her eyes. _"Watching your sibling enjoy themselves? Or is it the act itself you wanted to see?"_ Bethany didn't dare speak and give herself away, though apparently that wasn't necessary, because he went on to say, _"You don't have much experience with sex, do you, songbird?"_

Bethany had flushed, hearing the old nickname out of his mouth now, of all times, had shaken her head. _“We aren’t talking about this!”_ She’d whispered in an agony, shaking her head back and forth so that her curls tangled up around the heat of her cheeks.

 _"There is no shame in a healthy curiosity, even should that curiosity involve your sibling's rear,"_ her father had gone on to say, making her blush still further.

 _“Yes! There is!”_ She’d managed to say, because it was expected of her, but she’d also lowered her hands from where they’d crept up to cover her face. _“The- the chantry-”_

 _“I’m surprised you grasped that part of the sermon, with how much attention you pay to a certain redhead.”_ There was no judgement in his tone, simply amusement, which turned into a quiet laugh when she’d buried her face back into her hands. _“Everyone has curiosity, songbird, and this?”_ She looked up when she felt him shift to turn her around, and peeked between her fingers to see her sibling moving between Peach’s spread legs, and swallowed back a small noise. _“This is something most everyone learns about sooner or later, and…”_

He paused, long enough that Bethany turned in the circle of his arms to peer at him just as the hand resting on her side moved down just a bit, just enough to rest on the swell of her hip. Even through the layers of her clothes, she’d felt the heat of his touch, and had shivered as he murmured in the shell of her ear, _“There are certain lessons that can be added to your schooling.”_

Bethany had hesitated. Not because she was truly afraid of what she might be agreeing to, but because possibilities that hadn’t even had time to fully formulate in her head were dizzying, overwhelming. But what eventually decided her was that, yes, she did have an interest in and a want to know these things, to do them, and she trusted her father. More than that, a small voice had whispered when his hand smoothed circles on her hip, but she pushed it aside as she opened her mouth to say, _“Yes.”_

 _“Yes, what?”_ Her father had asked her, smiling as his breath ghosted warm across her skin, making her twist in place for reasons she didn’t really understand. _“I need you to ask for it by name. I won’t force you, not now or ever.”_

He’d stopped touching her, had lifted his hand away, and Bethany shifted again at the lack before forcing herself still. _“Yes,”_ she said softly, eyes still locked where her sibling was twined together with a girl that Bethany didn’t know why she was envious of, or in what way, only that she wanted to be touched that way, herself, by… _“I want you to touch me. Teach me.”_

He had smiled in answer, the same way he was doing now. It was clear by the change in his tone, gone lower, throatier, that their usual lessons were done for the day, and she felt her blood quicken as she watched him spin in place, the tails of his coat flaring wide. "Now, I think," he said with much waving of his hands, which surprised a genuine laugh out of Bethany, "the first step in the dance. The costumes." With a wink at her, Malcolm set aside his staff, and started to unbutton his duster.

Instead of robes, which would have given him away to every farmhand with the slightest grasp of chantry doctrine, Malcolm instead tended towards long coats and trousers, both of which he now unceremoniously removed. After every layer was shucked, he very conscientiously folded them on a nearby lowslung tree branch, jacket below vest below shirt below the specially made binder that she had very rarely seen, at least as she'd gotten older. Unbound, her father's breasts were smaller than hers, she noticed, not without a shuffle and pressing of her fingers to her mouth. Nor could she miss the way her father's hips curved when they weren't hidden by layers of bulky clothing. _"I have never been so grateful for the Fereldan chill,"_ he'd winked at her one day when lingering eyes had fallen her way in the market, trying -and succeeding- at distracting her from her discomfort.

 _"I don't think it would be so easy for me to hide that way,"_ she'd said with a shrug that somehow managed to take in her very generous curves.

 _"With luck,"_ he'd said, looking at her the same way he was now as he nosed beneath her scarf to brush soft kisses along her throat, _"you won't have to."_

"Shouldn't I, um...?" Bethany said, with only the slightest quaver in her voice as she nodded at the neat pile of Malcolm's clothes, which earned her a soft huff of laughter. Not mocking, just inviting her in on the joke.

"Sorry, songbird," he said, pulling back just enough to see his smile, "but you'll soon find out that a great many gentlemen, myself included, enjoy unwrapping our presents."

Bethany huffed herself, crossing her arms beneath her chest. She was suddenly and acutely very aware of how that drew her father's eyes in a way she'd never been before, and found it somehow hard to catch her breath. "What about you?" She asked, and hoped he hadn't noticed, though judging by the way his warm gaze tracked the rise and fall of her breasts, that wasn't very likely. "Aren't you a present?"

"Me?" His smile twisted at the corner, there and gone, so fast she'd almost think she had imagined it, if it hadn't been for the strange pang it left in her chest. "I'm a hand-me-down, if anything. You don't unwrap those, you trade them on. You borrow them. And so," he said grandly, stepping close again so that she nearly felt backed up on her heels, and would have felt unbalanced if one of his long-fingered hands hadn't settled at the small of his back. "You are borrowing me."

She ducked her head with another laugh, one that shook as she watched him approach. She hadn’t known what to expect here, now. She’d resolved herself to going through with it, but that resolve was different from the altogether unknown sensation of someone else’s hands moving across her.

His hands were on hers, at first, lifting them up to interlace their fingers before moving their joined hands to the buckles of her chainmail. Her breath caught as, one by one, they were released, and the chainmail rippled down and away to pool at her feet. Even then, however, he did not rush to remove her clothes the way he had his own. Through moving their joined hands, he had Bethany touch herself, gently caressing in widening circles that, even over her clothes, made her shiver and shift in place. She could feel him smile as he bent close to nose beneath her scarf, and let out a soft, surprised noise at how good his lips felt on her neck. He pressed the softest of kisses here, there, and she almost didn’t notice when her scarf fell away so that he could nip at the shadow of her throat. Bethany gasped, eyes flying open wide, and felt her father chuckle before she heard it, a rumbling vibration where they were pressed close together, and she surprised herself with a sudden desire to be closer still, to feel his skin against hers, instead of through cloth.

She stepped back just far enough that she had room, but close enough still that she could feel the weight of his gaze as she set about unlacing her tunic. He made a noise of his own when the laces binding her breasts came undone, low and warming her lower still, and she shivered as she wriggled out of the tunic. It wasn’t the graceful, sinuous movements of a dancer, but her father didn’t seem to mind one bit, and in fact came forward almost immediately to press flush against her.

Bethany’s breath got tangled up somewhere between her teeth and tongue. She hadn’t expected the electric rush that left her near lightheaded, or the way that the scrape of the callouses on his palms across her breasts would make her head fall to his shoulder on a whine. A whine. The noises she was making were embarrassing, incredibly so, and yet Bethany couldn’t help them, no more than she could the one that followed as her father dropped to his knees and began to ease her out of her boots and leggings, kissing every inch of bared skin along the way until she was breathless, her legs shaking, but he did not touch her, not the way she wanted him to. 

Not yet.

He sat back against the trunk of a nearby tree, naked as the day he was born and completely unashamed. “Come here,” he said, his expression softening when she wavered. “Please. I want to show you something.”

Swallowing hard, Bethany moved how and where he instructed until she was leaning with her back pressed against his chest. She could feel the softness of his breasts against her bare skin, and tried her best to steady her breaths as his hands started to roam across her bare skin again. This time, it seemed there was purpose to it, rather than to touch just for the sake of touching.

He spent some time on her breasts, teasing at the idea of it by starting to touch them before skating away to move up and down her belly instead, until she twisted, pushing against his chest with a noise that could barely be called a noise at all. “Allow an old man his pleasures,” Malcolm said against her ear, laughing softly when a whine started to build up in her throat when his left hand fell away from her breast again. “Making a beautiful woman show how much she wants to be touched is something I shall always treasure, particularly when that woman is you.”

Bethany went still for a moment, torn between shock and a slow, settling warmth that made her turn a smile into his shoulder, and then one of his hands molded to her breast. Bethany’s mouth dropped open silently, breathing out a wavering exhale that ended on a wordless, inarticulate cry when his soothing caresses were followed by his free hand dipping between her legs.

Malcolm murmured approval as Bethany arched against him, grinding against his hand with a breathless cry as it met and found her clit, only to find herself growling when that, too, was only brief. “Going to bite me, Beth?” He asked, smothering a laugh when she growled again, louder, when he repeated the action.

“Maybe,” she panted, only for whatever she’d planned on saying next going high and ending on a whimper as he slowly pushed two fingers inside of her. Her hips bucked up at once, and Malcolm pressed an open-mouthed kiss against her overheated skin as she started to work herself on his fingers.

“Does that feel good?” He asked between kisses, covering her throat with kisses and nips that made her strain against his fingers on ragged gasps. “Tell me what you want, dearest, I want to hear you.”

Bethany whined, twisting, because saying such things out loud was lewd, indecent, everyone knew that, but remembering it was growing harder by the minute as her father buried himself knuckle deep inside her and twisted his fingers so that she cried out. “You!” She gasped, hardly knowing what she was saying, only that she wanted it. “You, I want you, please, I need-”

“You need this?” He asked, grinding the heel of his hand against her clit hard enough she saw stars. “Or this?” He gripped her breast in his hand, roughly pressing his palm against it and ground it up so that he could toy with her nipple until she let out a soft moan that was all need. “Or is it more like…” He bit down on her shoulder as he teased and taunted, harder than before, wringing noises out of her that were awful, shameful, but that spurred her on, too, made her buck up wantonly into her father’s hands faster and faster until, without warning, the whole world fell away.

“I think that might have been it,” She heard her father say against her hair as she gradually came back to herself and twisted so that she could look fully at him, gasping for air. Everything was sensitive, her every nerve clamoring for attention, and she was shuddering still as she looked back at Malcolm, who had settled back to smile at her with eyes that had fallen half shut, watching her where she sat and panted. She’d never been looked at in quite this way before, and she shifted where she sat. Not uncomfortably, but in answer to a wordless urge that made sitting still almost impossible. Watching him watch her was… Something new, something exciting, and she found herself drawing in a deeper breath than she had to, wanting him to look at her chest, and was rewarded with a low noise that made her fist her hands on the grass to hold back an answering one of her own.

“Come here, songbird,” he told her. “I have something new to teach you. Are you ready to learn about mouths?”

Bethany spent only a moment peering at him, wide eyed and panting, before she nodded. Almost every part of her was slight with tingling sensation and she moved to kneel between his spread legs the moment he asked her to. When he directed her with a smile and a breathless wave of his hand, Bethany drew her lower lip in between her teeth as nervousness briefly warred with building excitement. Anticipation won out, and so, with only a minor pause to draw in a steadying breath to calm her racing heart, Bethany bent close to where her father’s cunt was framed by the bracket of her hands.

This close, there was a smell to it, to him, that she hadn't taken the time to consider, and she spent a moment soaking it in until her father shuffled, whether in impatience or to try to urge her on, she didn't know and didn't ask, at which point she pressed her mouth to the core of him and drew her tongue up the length of his folds. She knew that it was obvious by the way she did it that it was inexperienced, clumsy even, but he reacted almost at once, sighing and stretching himself out in a long roll that went down his spine and pushed him up towards her mouth.

She pulled back slightly when his cunt pressed again against her mouth, reorienting herself.  It was a strong taste, one she couldn't rightly define, but not unpleasant, she decided, and pressed closer, parting her father's folds with her fingers so that she could dip her tongue inside. That earned her another breathless sound of pleasure, one that made Bethany wriggle and squeeze her thighs tightly together in a thoughtless, instinctive attempt to control the building warmth there.

“Beth,” her father sighed, reaching out to her, “the clit, Beth.” There was a brief pause wherein both Malcolm and Bethany did not move, and then Malcolm gave another one of those soft laughs when she made a questioning noise against him. "Right. I forgot the chantry doesn't emphasize teaching such things." He hissed out a soft sound when she experimentally pushed a finger inside him and tensed briefly before relaxing. "Right," he said again, rougher, and she felt a small thrill of satisfaction that she herself had put that quaver in her father's voice. "So. Right. Up above the folds, there is a, ahh! A small nub. You want to touch that. Taste it. Just don't, ah, bite it," he said on a shaky laugh as Bethany turned her attention to where he directed. She was rewarded with another shiver, and the shivery tactile sensation as his hands wound through her hair. Not pressing her close, just. Holding her, in a way she thought she might have missed, if she'd ever experienced it this way.

Bethany nodded, but she got the feeling her father may have been beyond noticing it. He made a very interesting noise when her lips brushed against the nub he'd spoken about. She'd known that she'd had one herself, in a distant way, but she'd never given it any real thought, never thought that touching it or dragging a tongue up it slow the way she was doing now would be enjoyable enough to make her father buck up into her, then again when she experimentally pushed another finger inside him with the next touch of her tongue to him.

His hips were rolling up in a wave, now, regular and unceasing as the ocean she remembered only in snatches and wished to see again. Bethany hummed appreciation and urged his legs wider so that she could lap at his clit with greater confidence, wringing out shuddering sigh after sigh, gasps mingled with soft moans. He was very wet now. She could feel it on her fingers and her tongue, hear it when her fingers pumped in and out of her father’s cunt. Everything combined into a heady experience that was equally, if not even more, arousing for her as it was for him, and Bethany was finding it very hard to think or breathe just now, just as she had earlier, when she'd actually been the one being touched. How very interesting.

She added a third finger, then a fourth, captivated by the rise and fall of her father's hips. Was this why people had sex so much, she wondered. Knowing that you could do this to someone? That you could make someone so thoughtful and restrained as her father break down into a quivering thing that wanted more and more of whatever you chose to give? It was wonderful, and she couldn't get enough of it, of tasting his excitement on her tongue as she gave a swift flicker of her tongue over his clit, making him cry out.

“Beth,” he gasped out after a first, failed attempt, hoarse and cracked, and she shivered with some unnamed satisfaction. “Beth, I'm going to-” She arched and grit out her name between his teeth on a long, low moan when she gave her fingers a twist. “Beth, I need you to-”

He cut himself off on a ragged curse that she only half caught, something low and filthy and invoking her name, and then he was arching up into her, his hands tightening in her hair as he pressed her into the staccato thrust of his hips. She had time for only a brief, startled noise, and then warmth washed over her tongue and mouth and chin, flooding her entire world with taste and the texture of her father’s cries as his back bowed, shuddering up into her again and again until, long seconds later, he fell back onto the grass, panting and shivering like he'd just emerged from a fever. And maybe he had.

“You,” he said as Bethany drew back onto her haunches to wipe at her face with a curious hand, “need to listen to directions.”

“I did,” she told him, not looking away from the wetness now in her hands. She was smiling, giddy and breathless, and laughed when he reached up to hauled her down beside him to kiss her long and slow and sweet. Bethany was stiff at first from surprise, then melted into it, lifting her hands to clutch at his shoulders. He kissed her not like she was going to break but like she was a treasure, cupping her cheeks as he traced his tongue over the seam of her lips, asking for permission, she thought distantly.

When her lips parted on a small gasp he delved inside, ranging his tongue together with her own and suckling on it until she whimpered and twisted. It was his turn to laugh, now, his hands falling to map out her curves. His touch was unhurried, almost as if he were committing every part of her to memory. When his hands went to her hips, gently tugging her closer, she went eagerly, straddling his lap as she rocked into his kisses. The friction of rubbing against him this way wasn't as nice as direct touch had been, but it was still more than enough to make her twist in his lap with a whine when he broke the kiss. “There is always something to be said for tasting yourself in a kiss,” he said, more than a bit out of breath, and raised his eyebrows when she shifted impatiently. “I see someone is eager to move onto the next lesson,” he smiled, shaking his head, but he was laughing with her as he settled onto his back, urging her up to kneel over his face with hands and words and smiles.

Bethany hesitated, uncertain again, unsure how he would be able to breathe like that or if she would be hurting him, but the instant his tongue touched her, all thought flew away. “Oh,” she sighed, and started to lift a hand to cover her mouth until her father caught it in one of his own.

 _I want to hear you_ , she remembered him saying, and eased out a soft sigh on the exhale that went high when he pushed his tongue as deeply inside her as it could go. She moaned, despite herself, her hips twitching into him. She'd quite forgotten her earlier shyness, and every lap of his tongue against and within her made her bend lower over him, gasping for breath around the shape of a word. “Father,” she said, moaned, wailed as he only increased the pace, until she was trembling. As embarrassed as she'd been earlier to make the slightest noise, now she thought she would die if she didn't. “Father, I need- please, please, I just-”

Malcolm grunted beneath her and pushed her legs wider where they had clamped around his head, using the greater access to swirl his tongue around her clit and back inside her again and again, often enough that she found it impossible not to talk, not to beg and sigh and whimper for him. Now that she was experiencing it herself, she understood why her father's voice had gone completely away. Fingers were one thing, but a mouth was quite another, particularly when combined with those very fingers that were quite a bit more clever than her own. She sighed when they first pushed inside her to scissor between her folds, stretching before they curved the press against a place that made her head loll back on her shoulders. The next swipe of his tongue made her do more, and the next, far more than that.

It seemed mere moments, everything blurring together into sound and movement and desperation, but she had no way of knowing how long it was before all of the warmth that had been building up at the base of her spine exploded out in waves, making her seize tight. Wordless things that might have been moans and might have been his name flew out of her as she shuddered against her father’s mouth and fingers, grinding down on him as she rode out her climax.

When at last she fell still, she rolled along with the motion as her father moved her onto her side beside him. She lay there, winded and trembling, as he got to his feet. His own face, she noticed, was just as wet as her own had been, but he did not give the slightest attempt at wiping his face, and something about that stirred in her belly, even as recently as she had come.

"Now," he said, as he moved towards where his coat was spread over the tree limb and ruffled through his pockets, which she watched with a lazy sort of languor, feeling calm and sated in a way she never had before, "I think we should move onto the next part of our lesson," which got her attention, even more so when he turned around, bearing some sort of harness and a-

"Oh." It came out breathless and high pitched, followed by a further noise of flustered embarrassment when Malcolm wiggled his eyebrows.

"I am a fair-minded man," he said cheerfully, "and will not make assumptions about the relationships you will go on to have. However, should that relationship involve a certain body part resembling a rude tuber, I want you to be prepared," he said with a wink that had her blushing harder, somehow feeling even more debauched than she had after having sex with her father. "I'm talking about a penis, Bethany," he added, earning a squeak and a feeble wave of a hand in his general direction.

"I know!" She said with a burst of laughter. "I know! I know what a penis is!"

"Are you sure," Malcolm grinned as he approached. "Because I have pamphlets available, chantry approved."

Bethany's eyebrows rose above a dubious expression, and he shrugged. "Well, maybe disapproved of, yes, but those are paltry details. The important thing," he told her, "is that you know what this is, how to put it on, and where it goes."

"I think I know where it goes," she whispered, gulping back a burst of laughter when her father touched two fingers beneath her chin until she looked him in the eye.

"Oh, it can go very many interesting places," he told her, "but just now we shall focus on two."

She mouthed the first part of that to herself before a soft clearing of the throat made her guiltily bring her attention back to her father as explained how the harness worked, showing her how the very colorful, very ridged dildo fit in a hole in the main part of it before he had her help buckle him into it. "My version of a suit of armor," he whispered as she bent before him, and, after a pause, gripped her ass, earning him a soft noise he appreciated her much, so he did it again before she shot up before him, cheeks flushed and near breathless. "Oh, did I forget the sword?" He asked her, and she groaned.

"No- no more jokes," she told him, though her shoulders shook with held back laughter, which was good. Better. He had no problems making the fool of himself if it meant her first time was filled with laughter.

"Fair enough," he smiled. "So, now we decide on the next part," which got him a curious tilt of her head. "Positions."

"Positions?" Yes, by that look he'd figured he would get this response.

"Yes. There are any number of ways to enjoy each other. I am fond of the so-called lay sister position, which is face-to-face," he chose not to comment of how she ducked her face at the title, though he had a few ideas, "though I do have a certain place in my withered black heart for the doggy style." She looked up at that, face twisted in confusion until she saw the wiggling of his eyebrows and put two and two together to get four. She always had been a smart girl.

“Oh.”

“You have a way of saying that,” he smiled, “that makes me look forward to finding ways to make you say it.”

Bethany flushed again, but this time her laughter came easier. Whatever nervousness she’d had at first had been banished at some point between him putting his fingers inside of her and her using her mouth to pleasure him in much the same way, though even thinking about such things made her want to hide her face again. She resisted, barely, mostly because she did not want to miss one moment of what was happening as her father settled himself between her legs. “Are you sure you want this?” He asked her one more time, as he had again and again this morning, but he also didn’t stop moving. The thing, the cock, was both hard and soft as he pushed the head of it against her. She was somehow not surprised that Malcolm immediately began to rock back and forth within her folds without really pushing in at all, and scowled up at him.

“I’m going to bite you,” she warned him, and he laughed.

“Promises promises, dearest.” Which of course meant that she had to lean up and bite his shoulder in almost the same place where he had bitten her. Malcolm groaned, his forearms quaking where he held himself over her. He reached between them for a moment, readjusting himself, and then he began to push slowly, ever so slowly, inside her. It went in easy, she was so slick from her previous orgasms, but Bethany still made an uncertain noise at the strange, foreign sensation of being stretched and filled where she’d never been before.

Malcolm paused at once, looking down at her with a worried twist to his brows. She felt a desire to kiss it away, so she did, and followed it up with a true kiss, a real kiss. “Keep going,” she said against his lips, and sighed as he dropped a hand to start teasing at her clit to help her adjust. That helped. When he pushed in again, it felt better, the way his fingers and his mouth had, and by the third thrust the strangeness of it was forgotten. After that, all that was important was friction, was moving and moving and moving again to meet her father’s every thrust. He wasn’t moving quickly enough for her, and she whined with every slow tug out of her.

He answered that with a grin, and thrust in hard enough that her mouth dropped open. She bucked up just in time to meet the next thrust, wringing out a word that might have been his name, and he groaned against her mouth. He kissed her deep and raw, timing the swipes of his tongue with his thrusts until she shook against him. “Do you hear how wet you are for me, Bethany?” He asked her, and she could barely hear him over the hammering of her heart, let alone stop moving long enough to care. “How much you need me like I need you?” He gripped her hips as he yanked her hard onto him again, then again, making her cry out into his mouth before he swung them over without warning so that Bethany sat astride him, one leg on either side of him.  

She stopped, near quaking with the urge to move and move again, wanting, needing him to fuck her, but this… This was new, she hadn’t heard of this even in that long lost book, but her father was watching her like he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life, and she found herself moving atop him before she quite remembered telling herself to. “Take your pleasure, Bethany,” he rasped, smoothing his hands and down her sides before they came to rest on her hips. “I want to see you. Hear you.”

From this angle, the dildo, her father, felt like he was going deeper, harder, and Bethany’s head fell back on a moan, long and loud and unselfconscious. The only other person here was her father, and he liked it, he wanted it, and hearing herself set a fire in her blood that made her go faster, harder, fucking herself on her father’s cock with every ounce of strength she had.

The end came too fast after that, it seemed, but it was also a hundred years, a thousand. She wanted to do this forever, to feel her father bottom out inside her cunt and watch the awe on his face as she bent low to press scorching kisses up his throat the way he had hers. Every moment was too much and not enough, and she begged him to stay here like this, with her, forever.

Malcolm’s face twisted in an unreadable expression and then he was hauling her down so kiss her so hard she forgot how to breathe. He was pounding his cock into her at a pace she couldn’t meet, however much she tried, and she did, oh how she tried, but, too soon, she felt herself spiraling over that abyss again. Bethany clung to her father desperately, rocking against him faster and faster so that she could feel every inch of him inside her as she felt the building tremors boil up from the base of her spine. She gasped into his mouth, back bowing to press herself against him with every seizing arch.

Malcolm was speaking to her throughout, calling her beautiful, calling her his the way he was hers, and all manner of other things she wouldn’t remember later, much less as she gradually sank down atop him. She was soaked with sweat and breathing hard, but despite all of that, she still found it in herself to twine close as he stroked her sides, her every curve matching up to his. Her eyes fluttered closed on a sigh, long and low and contented. This was… this was a peace she hadn’t thought to look for before, but now that she had it, she didn’t want to let go.

An unexpected jolt of something cold twisted in her gut at the thought that he’d want to, that this would only be a one time thing, and turned her head to swallow as she started to pull away, only to wince at a sudden ache between her legs. There was no blood that she could see, but...

“About that,” her father smiled with a touch of ruefulness. “You’re going to be sore tomorrow.”

Bethany nodded solemnly, considering this, then, “How sore do you get?” It was tentative at first, but grew in strength as she watched his expression not falter, not even as she reached a hand down to toy with the buckles on the harness.

“While I’m wearing it? Not at all.” He looked back into her slow building smile with an expectant expression, waiting for her to say what she needed, as he always had.


End file.
